


Golden Years

by Lightning_Strikes_Again



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A "what if" look into a possible future, Adrenaline Rush AU (AR-AU), Allura Singh/Lotor Dalir (Dalingh), Allura and Lotor have children from past marriages, F/M, Lotura - Freeform, Lotura Week 2020, Past Allura/Lance and Lotor/Merla, Prompt: New Beginnings, References to other Voltron characters who have died in this timeline, old people romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning_Strikes_Again/pseuds/Lightning_Strikes_Again
Summary: Part of theAdrenaline Rush Alternate Universe (AR-AU) Collection.Several decades have passed since Allura "The Princess" Singh and Lotor Dalir topped the charts as fan favorites in the racing world. They've both made decisions they've regretted and married different people. But fate brings them back together just when they thought new beginnings were no longer possible.Posted for Lotura Week Day 5 - Daffodil - Eternal Life / New Beginnings
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35
Collections: Adrenaline Rush Alternate Universe (AR-AU) Stories





	Golden Years

The elderly Mrs. Allura McClain sat in the dining room. It was a large, opulent room, spanning a great length. She somewhat awkwardly patted the white tablecloth, overwhelmed by the gleams of gold and silver—decorations for the rich and powerful. Then she looked down at her aged hands, feeling terribly out of place.

Was she rich enough to be here? She could have been perfectly happy in a simpler assisted living resort. It seemed rather wasteful to pour so much money into an old woman’s rent, when her grandchildren were beginning their racing careers now and needed financial support—

Her face, which was still beautiful but now wrinkled, twitched in a sudden pain.

 _Ninety days_ , the counselors had said. It took someone of her age ninety days to adjust to a new environment. They, as well as her doctors and family, pressed that this was all for the best, with her increasing health needs and odd spells of weakness—

A server came up, dressed in a fine suit with an apron. “Have you decided on your meal this evening, Mrs. McClain?”

She looked up, bewildered. Her eyes were still bright and sharp. “Oh, um…” And then she weakly reached for the menu before her, skimming it over. This was her home now. Restaurant style dining didn’t seem bad at all. And they even had vegetarian options, how delightful. “May I have the sweet potato souffle, please? And—and a lassi, if you can make one.”

The server wrote down her demands and kindly took back her menu. “Any certain flavor for your lassi, madam?”

She blinked. There were so many decisions happening at once— _what did she want to bring with her, what did she want to leave behind or sell for money_ —that she eventually said, her frail, alto voice cracking in an odd humor, “Why not surprise me.”

The server beamed at her. “I will make it a good choice for you, I promise.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the dining room, the edge of a newspaper tilted down, revealing wide, blue-eyes, set within a face once known as the handsomest in the world.

The newspaper suddenly startled from long, aged fingers.

The sound echoed over the general murmur of the other people and their families dining in the room. It inspired Allura to turn her head, her gold earrings jingling against white curls. And then she blinked, and her eyes widened in shock.

There, just a few tables down, was a handsome older gentlemen. He wore a dark newsboy hat, his long hair white as snow—just as it had always been.

She narrowed her eyes, her heart beginning to pound in an odd, inexplicable way. “Lotor?” she called out. Her voice was frailer than before, but it strengthened at the sight of him. “Lotor Dalir, is that you?”

The man visibly swallowed. His handsome, dark face now bore heavy crinkles at the corner of his eyes—and his once-full lips were thinned with wrinkles from years of smoking. But there was no mistaking the aristocratic arch of his nose and sharp cut of his jaw. He opened his mouth, his voice a deep velvet—with a slight shake of age. “Allura Singh?”

From across the room, the two stared at each other in utter shock.

And then the man stiffly leaned forward, his white hair slipping down broad, bowed shoulders. He beamed at her, his face splitting in such delight that it lifted decades from him. “My god. What on earth are you doing here?”

Allura huffed at him and retorted, still bewildered, “Why, I live here now, sir. Do you as well?”

He leaned his chin against his hand, narrowing those brilliant eyes of his. They were slightly more clouded than she remembered. “You cannot possibly live here, love. This is a facility for the old—and I see you’ve not aged a day.”

“Oh, tish tosh,” she said, voice sharpening in a merry way. She somewhat awkwardly wiggled her seat to face him more head-on, her neck stiff from many years of driving Black Lion. “I’ve not seen you in decades, and the first thing you do is flirt with me?”

The infamous Lotor Dalir turned his face. In doing so, it revealed the heavy wrinkle he carried as a laugh line from the edge of his nose to the wide corner of his mouth. A gold earring still glimmered from his ear, peeking out from his long hair. He reached for a toothpick on the table, then set it in his mouth. He twirled it between his lips, then pulled it out as if it were a cigarette. He airily waved his hand. “It’s a rough life, Miss Singh,” he pouted.

“That’s Mrs. McClain to you,” she retorted lightly, raising up her chin. Then she recalled that she was beginning to suffer from sagging skin on her neck, and she cleared her throat, then looked down and carefully brushed out wrinkles on her skirt. Her old heart was still pounding. She didn’t quite know why.

Lotor’s beaming smile faltered slightly. “…Ah, yes. Mrs. McClain.”

Her blue and purple eyes flickered back up to him. Things had always been a bit awkward between them after she’d turned him down for a date. And then had accepted one from her own teammate, Lance, who eventually became her husband, to the delight of racing fans everywhere. She nervously tapped her fingers on her knee. “Do you, um, do you want to sit with me? Or perhaps you have already eaten lunch. Or are waiting on others to join you?”

The man pressed his lips together. He stiffly spun his toothpick between his fingers. “They have taken my order, but you will find, love, that they run on island time here.” He tilted his head, then said, voice catching in an odd way, “If I walk to you, I fear you will see how unkind time has been to me.”

Allura made a noise in the back of her throat—a mix of amusement and apprehension. “On the contrary, you seem perfectly ornery to me.”

That inspired another smile on his face. Lotor turned and reached out with long, aged fingers, wrapping them around a brushed handle of a cane. “I’ve a rod in my knee, though,” he called to her. “It’s becoming a trick to stand up or sit down with it.”

She hummed. “Have you thought about cutting off the silly thing?”

He huffed. It was a laugh, and the sound of his voice was still that of a bell, but it was weak with the slightest of rattles. “Yes. I have.” And then he determinedly clenched his hand around the cane and slowly pulled himself up, his white hair flaring about him like flickers of a flame. As he stood from the table, his shadow stretched out, like that of a thin, ghostly wraith on the floor.

Allura clenched her hands together, a sudden pain darting through her at the broken line of Lotor Dalir’s shoulders, and the way his tall frame had thinned out. _Oh_ , she thought in sadness. _How old we’ve become._

His steps were more unsure. He tended to look down as he walked, his handsome face tightening with the concentration to control his gait. His cane glimmered darkly in the soft light of the dining room. “Do take a nap while I walk over,” he joked in a soft murmur. “I’ll be there next Tuesday.”

The woman managed a laugh of her own at that, the pain in her disappearing into amusement. She looked him over then. He still dressed smartly, with dark pants and an Armani jacket. On his left hand, a gold ring still gleamed in the light. “I fear, sir, I do not nap until at least three o’ clock on any given day. So I shall watch you and cheer you on.”

A white brow flew up, and blue eyes narrowed at her curiously. “No morning nap?”

“None, sir.”

He breathed out a sigh. “Ah, Miss Singh. With such energy, why ever would you be here?” He began to sound a bit breathless then. “You’re only what—75, 76, perhaps?”

Allura swallowed hard. She recalled watching a younger Lotor Dalir smoke one cigarette after another as he fiddled away with fixing his bike. No doubt, she thought, the habit had finally caught up to him. “A lady never tells her age,” she reminded him primly.

Lotor eyed her right back. His gaze was sharp, calculating, beneath his hat. “You are four years my younger—I can figure you out, yet.” Then his face twisted merrily. “Though I stopped counting after 45. So you must be only 41.”

She gave him a look.

He gave her one right back, delighted in a way that did not seem to match his general state of limitations. “Now, hold tight, love. I am going to sit down, and that might take a bit as well.”

“I’ve nowhere else to be,” she deadpanned lightly. She waved her hand to the empty seats on either side of her. “Take your time.”

He moaned. “Oh, I have so much time.” He reached out and grasped the back of a chair. She realized then his knuckles looked a bit swollen. _Arthritis_ , she realized. He still held that damned toothpick between his fingers as well, as if it were just another cigarette. “Forgive me, Miss Singh. I mean, Mrs. McClain.”

He sat down in a puff of white hair, breathing out and then in with quick succession, attempting to catch his breath.

Allura dared to breathe in, realizing with a start that he smelled of spices and oud still. His presence was such that she could feel it, like sunlight against her skin. She tried to awkwardly carry on conversation, saying, “I noticed you’re without your signature cigarette, sir.”

The man leaned back in his chair, wincing a bit as he stretched out his legs. He stiffly set his cane against the table’s edge, then raised up his toothpick as if in a toast. His voice smoothed back down into velvet. “I had to give it up.” He gave her a miserably amused look. “Or else I would have to carry an oxygen tank with me, and by god, I will not use a walker.”

Allura widened her eyes. “Oh, but they’re so fun,” she said. “It’s like carrying your desk and a seat with you. And you can get fun little organizers to hang on the bars.”

Lotor’s lips stretched once more, and then his eyes roved over the table. “Do you use one, Mrs. McClain?”

She hesitated, then turned slightly and pulled up her own white cane. “No, but if I fall one more time, I might have to. I’ve used them before for rehab.”

Lotor leaned forward. A concerned line appeared between his eyes. “The indomitable Allura Singh can fall?”

“As a matter of fact,” she deadpanned. She set her white cane down. “No more high heels or adventures out on ice, I’m afraid.” She carefully skirted mentioning her own bouts of weakness and dizziness that occasionally plagued her, for some reason that doctors had not quite figured out.

Lotor’s eye caught upon the wedding ring on her hand—a big, sparkly diamond. “And your husband?” he murmured evenly. “Am I to see him stroll through these doors as well?”

Allura paused then. She swallowed hard and looked down. She fell quite silent for a time, and her eyes misted. “No matter how long it’s been, it’s rather painful to admit that Lance is no longer with us.” She could not bring herself to use the word _dead_. Death was not something she had made peace with to any extent. It was a word to fear, even as it creeped closer.

Lotor’s face pulled in emotion as well. He bit his lip, then said, voice strangling, “My apologies. I simply assumed—”

“—It’s quite alright,” she cut in, managing a weak, watery smile. She forced herself to sit up straighter. “The world’s not so interested in our generation anymore. And it’s been a few years, besides.”

He then set his elbow on the table, his aged, handsome face twisting in thought. This close, she could see he wore heavy contacts, as if he were still too proud to wear glasses. “I do not even recall a report of it. And my memory is still very good, I’ll have you know.”

Allura watched him. She discreetly wiped her eyes. “Well, it’s—not like we’re royalty or anything. It was just a small ceremony in Cuba, where we lived then.” She smiled weakly. “But we had many good years. I, um, I have pictures of my family if you should like to see them?” And then she paused and whined, “Oh, but that sounds like such a thing that old people say. Do tell me if I’m being old.”

Lotor smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Of course not, love,” he murmured to her, his voice smooth as silk. “Show me your family, for I should like to know what you’ve been up to all these years.”

Allura bit her lip, and she looked down, fishing through her purse. “I have five children,” she said, forcing her tone to a happier register. “And they’ve had children as well, so we’re all rather a big bunch. I fear this place might struggle to cater to them all, if they should visit me for lunch or dinner one day.”

And she began to turn through her pocketbook, showing off picture after picture of smiling, handsome and beautiful faces, murmuring their names and ages, and their various professions. Some of them had gone into racing after her, but some others were engineers and teachers.

Lotor reached out to the pictures in curiosity of the faces, which were various combinations of Allura and Lance’s features. One picture was of a little girl in a racing outfit—a granddaughter named Fala—and he smiled softly, even as his throat tightened. “What a lovely family. Each one has your spark in their eye.”

Allura leaned forward, eyes curiosity. “And what of your family, with Merla? I do recall you two had a few children.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And why are you here at all? You were always so rich; it seems odd to see you not otherwise in a castle.”

The man paused then, his fingers sliding away from the pictures of smiling faces. In that moment, the broken line in his shoulders seemed to bow in even harder. He visibly swallowed hard. Then his eyes began to mist, and he could not speak for a time. Eventually, he managed with a halted voice, “I fear Merla was most concerned with the welfare of Galra Tech and our children. She quite…maneuvered my wealth out from under me, with how she arranged our finances before she passed.”

Allura’s white brows furrowed together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Lotor looked down, licking his lip. His aged face pulled hard in pain. “Pray you never do.” And then he weakly patted the table. “I never knew your husband well, but your pictures suggest he and your children wanted you for more than your money.”

He carefully skirted the topic of showing pictures of his family.

His velvet voice caught hard. “How jealous I am of you suddenly, Mrs. McClain.”

And it was then that Allura began to realize the depth of pain that the infamous Lotor Dalir carried—that he hobbled as he walked not entirely because of his knee, but because his pride had been broken by his own family. Her breath hitched. “And your children?”

Thin lips pressed together. “Successful,” he said haltingly. “Galra Tech will thrive into the next century, I am certain.” His voice seemed to shake more in that moment, with a hint of derision and pain that did not suit his usually merry face. “If they do not murder one another for power first.”

“…Oh dear,” Allura murmured. She awkwardly looked down, wringing her hands. “That’s, um—a rather, um—”

He waved her off, looking tired. His eyes were still misted in an odd way. “—Pay no mind to the ramblings of an old man,” he said, forcing his voice to lift up. “I am simply paying for all that love I received when I was younger. I should have known to spread it out, so I would not be so empty-handed later.”

Allura’s face tightened in great pain. “Your—your family put you here, is that what you’re saying?”

He paused, then leaned forward. His breath smelled of peppermints—a clean, pleasant smell compared to the smoke and alcohol that once tinged his scent. “They dislike weakness,” he murmured with a miserable amusement. “I put myself here to avoid the streets.”

She searched his eyes, her own beginning to water for him. Her own family had worried for her wellbeing, calling her often to make sure she had not fallen or that she did not need anything from the store. Though she’d signed over Power of Attorney papers to her eldest, Lance’s own will had ensured that their little remaining fortune belonged to her. Her children had begged her to splurge on her own assisted living arrangements, at cost to their own inheritance.

She managed to whisper, “On the contrary. You are very strong, sir. Stronger than I am, if you have no one.”

Lotor Dalir paused. He leaned his wrinkled cheek against his knuckles. He looked tired then, but his lips stretched. “How sweet you still are. Have no worries, love. The one thing Merla could not place in her own name was my patent for quintessence injection. It pays for the whole party here, with such royalties.” His face softened. “And I rather like it. As I hope you will.”

Allura’s eyes were still watery. She sniffled delicately before confessing, “Truly, I don’t know much about this place. Or any of the other people here. Everything is so new and strange, save oddly for you.”

That little smile of his stretched wider. When he smiled, he likely could have passed for much younger than he was. Allura marveled at that, and she began to wonder if, like all those years ago as she had accused him, he were truly a jinni in disguise. “Oh, Mrs. McClain. Fear not. I shall be your guide. So long as you do not mind slowing down for me.”

His words lifted her weary heart.

She said softly, her sweet face stretching with a watery smile, “That’s perfectly fine. So long as you don’t drag me to something terrible, like a bingo game.”

Lotor laughed lightly. He tapped his hand on the table, his gold ring catching the light dully. “I would never do that.”

* * *

Allura McClain ate her sweet potato souffle as Lotor Dalir cut on a small steak. But a steak was not on the menu of options for the day, and she puzzled at his plate for a time before she realized that this man was not entirely without tricks or schemes.

Even in old age, it seemed Lotor Dalir still liked to bend reality to his will.

Something about that rose her heart in a merry way. For all the wildness around her, and for all the heartaches in his life, Lotor’s own wildness was a constant. She could rely on him to always be a bit difficult, a bit contrary.

He, meanwhile, eyed her, munching thoughtfully on his steak. His voice was slightly muffled. “What do you like to do nowadays, Miss—Mrs. McClain?”

She looked up, eyeing his glass of red wine. It was deep, ruby color. She said softly, “I had to give up racing, of course, but I like to walk about, I suppose. I’m not much for being locked up too long. The brochure said there are paved trails here?”

Lotor swallowed his piece of steak and somewhat delicately patted his mouth with his red napkin. He moved slow in a way that seemed like he were posing for a photoshoot at any given time. She thought he would still make a lovely picture for a magazine—aging perfected.

His voice lifted up in delight. “Ah, there is a waterfall on the edge of this premises. And a lake stocked with fish.” He leaned forward, his white hair framing his gaunt cheek. “And if you are particularly adventurous, there is even a path into town. It takes you right to the grocery store and the mall.”

Allura’s eyes widened in delight. “You mean, we can leave this place? And go into town?”

His lips stretched. “This is by far not a prison, love.”

And then she paused, her white brow crinkling. Her aged face caught hard in a falter. “Although with my weaknesses, perhaps I better…not wander so far.”

Lotor’s eyes ran over her. “You should not push yourself,” he agreed. There was a tick of concern in him. It was almost a protectiveness that reminded her of the way he’d once stared at her bruises from her dragster’s harness. He was worried for her. “May I ask what ails you?”

She bit her lip. “Well, I just get a…bit dizzy now and again.”

He hummed, now looking at her critically. “For what reason?”

“Now that, sir, is the million-dollar question,” she huffed in a pained pout. “I’m supposedly healthy as a horse, what with all the scans and blood work they’ve done. I’m afraid my doctors think I’m mental, and my family thinks I’ve got some terrible, unknown illness or stroke that is yet undiagnosed.” She hesitated. “But I suspect it may be a lingering result of my inherited quintessence exposure. It’s all rather frustrating.”

Lotor blinked at her. He quirked his lip. “Then get that little walker you spoke of, with the seat built-in. You can sit down during one of those dizzy spells. And otherwise run away with me to town.”

It was such an inane response that Allura laughed. It was a hearty sound. “Oh, you truly do not change, do you?”

“Not a bit.” He sat back in his chair, looking rather content with himself. He made it somewhat difficult to feel sorry for him, with such a smug little expression on his face. She almost forgot the broken lines in him, or that his beautiful eyes were still a bit bloodshot from how they had misted earlier, in talk of family.

Allura narrowed her gaze playfully. “And you do not have other women to…run away to town with?”

His blue eyes slid to hers. He raised up his aged hand with his wedding ring. “I’ve worn this to ward them off. But you, Mrs. McClain—you, I would trust not to grope me as I hobble along.”

That did it. She burst out in another giggle, the apples of her cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh, surely no one here would do such a thing, sir!”

He huffed indignantly. “I tell you, it happens quite often, especially during exercise classes. There’s a few people here with increasing stages of dementia. They know not what they do.”

“…Should I be worried for my own sake, then?” she whispered, almost conspiratorially.

His own voice lowered for her ears alone. “Of course, love. You’re the most beautiful woman here—anyone with eyes can see that.”

And that inspired a flood of warmth through her that she struggled to name.

“But not to worry,” he added, voice softening. “Most do keep their social graces. The ring on your finger will protect you, as will I.”

It was so terribly easy, to be sucked into the flirtations of one Lotor Dalir. Promises and compliments slipped from his lips the way some rattled off syllables. Allura did not even realize that somehow, she’d ended up leaning closer to him. “But…won’t they wonder eventually, if I’ve no husband to visit me?”

Lotor Dalir smiled cheekily at her, even as he speared his overcooked green beans. “Oh, that’s the rather brilliant thing about dementia, love. Time resets for them in ways it does not for us. It all works itself out, and without even a polite lie.”

But as they ate together at that table, with their hands moving in time, their voices lilting against one another, their respective rings caught the light.

And to those otherwise unaware, their rings almost appeared to be a matching set, glimmering together in time.

* * *

The resort existed on the edge of a great city in India, not far from the ocean. The coastal town boomed with industry and activities, and Lotor spent the greater half of their meal together, pulling out his phone and showing her his favorite places.

It was within those conversations that she realized he’d been quite lonely, for his voice rose with a frail excitement, and then a slight trepidation. “Perhaps you may not wish to spend so much time with me. I understand your family may visit.”

Allura glanced up from the phone, her mind still overwhelmed by all the things she could still do freely, just by walking about or taking a taxi. “Oh. My family’s rather spread around. Some are in Cuba still. Others moved to the States. And um, I believe my youngest and his oldest son are still backpacking in Europe, and my other grandchildren are off on a cross-country drag racing competition.” She shrugged lightly in a soft acceptance. “My oldest daughter lives here, to run the company. But that’s still a bit of a drive for her. They are not likely to visit again until the races come here. But that is well.”

Lotor’s brow crinkled. “You moved so far from your family.”

She pressed her lips together. “It was my decision,” she said primly. “I’m quite a forward-thinker, as you may know. And if my health deteriorates, then I’m quite content to say that I’ve landed precisely in the country I intend to be buried in, near the family plot. Which makes it all easier for my children.”

The man swallowed. He looked down. “That is…logical,” he murmured, but his voice strained. He did not seem to like mentions of her death.

“And out of all the resorts in the world,” she cut in curiously, “why did you choose this one? Was it simply to get away from your family?”

The man looked small in that moment. “In part. They remain in Dubai and Italy.” He did not speak of plots or his own death then, and his voice lightened. “That means I am 8,000 kilometers away from them. I find it rather freeing. I’ve not felt this free since I last rode the wife, and that was quite a time ago.”

Lotor Dalir had retired early from racing to run Galra Tech. He’d then soon disappeared from media after the death of his mother and father. But by then, there were newer, younger faces for the crowds to coo over—media was no doubt making more money off of them than a sixty-year-old has-been.

Allura bit her lip. “Will they not come to visit you at all?”

He airily waved his hand. “I hope not. If so, I imagine my eldest would bribe the doctors to label me as mentally incapacitated, then move me away to a dumpy nursing home while he hoards my royalties.” There was that sting of pain again. An uncomfortable line crept across his lips. “My apologies, Mrs. McClain. I do not wish to upset you. My mouth runs away with me.”

She pressed her lips together. “No, it’s—it’s quite alright.” She swallowed hard. “But even if your eldest came to visit for such an insidious purpose, you could very easily contest it in court and get a second opinion to overthrow a crooked doctor.”

Lotor leaned his cheek in his hand. He was tired then. “Oh, love. You have no idea, how deep their fingers are into stock markets and judges and lawyers. I may yet sign over my royalties to them in the will, to ensure my children will not interfere with my time here.” His voice broke slightly. “Merla taught them to get what they want. But at least they do not want the wife. I might just be buried with her and the ashes of Kova, for they were my true family.”

* * *

Allura McClain soon discovered that the wallet of Lotor Dalir did in fact carry pictures. A few were of the wife—his old pro stock bike. But most of them were of his old cat, Kova, and of his current cat, Bijali. After dinner, he dared to show her a few such pictures, tearing up as he hesitantly showed her, upon her request, knowing that they were a sorry replacement for family photos.

But Allura respectfully cooed over the cat photos, daring even to stroke a finger over a recent photo of Bijali, lazing about in the sun. Bijali was a little Abyssinian cat with a ruddy, deep cinnamon coat and dark eyes. “Does this one stay with you here?”

“Oh, yes,” Lotor murmured, his apprehension lifting up at her acceptance of his little furry family. “Bijali rides on my shoulder, but she is not allowed in the dining room, for she once made quite a mess of it.” He lowered his voice to a soft murmur of delight. “She ate off many people’s plates while I wasn’t looking. Which was something Kova had never done. I do believe she is far more mischievous, but she does hate water, unlike the old boy.”

Allura gazed at him again in awe. “You astonish me once more, sir. For truly, I recall the depth of your love for Kova, and yet you speak of him so easily.” 

Lotor tilted his head, his gold earring peeking back out from his white hair. He closed his wallet, his lips twitching up sadly. “It takes time,” he says. Then he waved his hand, declaring lightly, “Believe me, love, I’m quite used to this world breaking my heart. I am the expert at having a broken heart.” He slid his eyes to her in a miserable amusement. “I may even let you break my heart again, just for fun.”

Her eyes widened innocently. “Why on earth with I break your heart?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he murmured to her, an odd humor in his voice. “You already broke it once. No doubt, you’ll find a way to break it again.”

Allura bit her lip. “…How did I break your heart?”

He shakily stuffed his wallet back into his jacket pocket. Beneath his jacket, his arms seemed quite a deal thinner than she’d ever seen. “Saying no to that date, Mrs. McClain. Is it not obvious?”

She began to whine. “That was nearly five decades ago.”

Lotor’s velvet voice raised, and in doing so, contained a frail shake. But there was still that odd humor. “Are you quite certain? I thought it only five days ago.”

“Sir, I’ve been here for only five hours.”

The man ran his long fingers through his hair, then petulantly readjusted his newsboy hat. Allura suddenly wondered what he looked like without a hat—whether his hair had receded, or if he had gone bald atop his head. “Time all runs together, when you’ve nothing to do. I still feel it as if it were yesterday.” He leaned his cheek against his hand, his eyes roving over her. “I believe I unsettled you with my being…experienced, but truly, Mrs. McClain, you were my first heartbreak.”

She swallowed hard.

Her old heart flopped in a strange way. She somewhat awkwardly strangled out, “Have you no good memories at all of Merla, or your family?”

Lotor’s white brows knitted together. A seriousness came over him, then. And then he sighed. “…I do,” he said softly.

Allura hesitated for a second, then scooted up on her chair, setting her chin in her hands, and giving him an expectant, innocent look.

He huffed in amusement, looking away. Then he confessed, “We were supposed to have only one child. Our second was entirely an accident, and Merla never let me forget it. I had to bribe her to bring my youngest to term.” He pressed his lips together, his brows knitting together. His voice softened. “I held this little newborn daughter of mine, and she had a wild halo of red hair, like a sunset. She gave me the most precious, toothless smile.”

The topic seemed difficult for him, the more he sat there and thought about it. Those clouded blue eyes of his misted once more. “Forgive me,” he said suddenly. And then his throat seemed to close up.

For all of his derision for his family, it seemed there was a raw nerve in him yet.

Allura’s heart flew to his. She reached out and gently patted his hand. He was warm, his knuckles rough. “Well—um, I have a big family, as you know. And I have so many little grandchildren now. If you want, sir, I could introduce you. A few of them love old racing stories. And they very much like to be held. I could use some help with holding them all when they come to visit.”

That did it. He pulled away, shakily raising his hand to brush away tears from his eyes. He still could not speak for a time.

In that moment, there was such a deep loneliness in him that it made Allura’s collarbones crunch in with pain. Her own eyes misted for him.

Eventually, Lotor whispered, “They would come to visit _you_.”

Allura leaned forward, eyes earnest. “Oh, but they love racing of any kind. They will clamor for your attention, no doubt.” She added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And you can tell them I broke your heart. It’ll make me sound a bit wilder than I really am. The kids like that sort of stuff.”

Lotor let out a watery huff of a laugh. His stiff fingers weakly wrapped around her own. “I imagine so.”

* * *

Lotor walked with Allura around the main building of the resort. He quickened his gait for her, his dark cane a soft click against the stone tiles. He by far towered over her still, even with a slight stoop in his shoulders. But his legs were so long that he made up for his slowness with the length of his stride.

Allura had a shorter gait than his, her white cane moving a bit more quickly. Together, they were almost evenly matched in pace. She was pleased by this, her eyes bright as she glanced about. “Do you not think this place is rather a bit gaudy, sir? It’s all so gold and full of expensive paintings.”

“It’s called luxury living, love,” he deadpanned to her in amusement. Blue eyes slid to her. “What life has the great heir of Voltron Incorporated lived?”

She flushed a bit. Her long, white curls bounced with each step, and she felt quite a deal younger in Lotor’s presence. “A modest one, if you must know.”

“Your wedding ring would suggest otherwise.”

She hesitated. “Well, I do like sparkly things. But truly, with as many grandchildren as I have, funds seem to slip through cracks. Lance and I chose to be modest in our own spending so that we could spoil our children rotten.”

Lotor huffed. “But that ruins them.”

“It didn’t ruin them one bit,” she retorted lightly. She raised her chin in pride of her family.

The man hesitated. “Did you ever regret retiring from racing so early?”

The question itself was innocent—she knew Lotor had retired early as well. But something about it brought up a well of emotion in her. “Well, I didn’t quite have a choice. I couldn’t race while pregnant, you know.” She pressed her lips together. “But children are far more loving than trophies. I do not regret a single one of them.”

Lotor’s voice softened. “My father regretted that you quit racing before he did. He always said you were his greatest opponent.”

Allura raised her eyes to him in surprise. “Truly?”

“Of course. But he was proud that your name hung in the Racing Hall of Fame, beside his own and your father’s plaque.” The man seemed to grow soft at mention of his father. He managed even a merry smile at the thought of Zarkon Dalir. “But I am glad you are happy, Mrs. McClain.”

Her white cane paused on the tile for a time. “I’ve always been content,” she said carefully at that.

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, the infamous Lotor Dalir showed Allura McClain about the whole of the resort, introducing her to the employees, giving her the access codes to get in and out—even in places that residents were not supposed to go. He would knock on her apartment door, waiting out in the brisk morning with his nice jacket and hat, perfectly groomed. He seemed to take more pride in his appearance with her around, to a point where he even made it a point to shave every day and wear cologne.

It was on the third day that Allura appeared before him with her little walker, which boasted a bright pink organizer on the bars, and demanded a walk on the trails. “And while you’re at it,” she said, her frail voice strengthening, “I want you to take off your hat, sir.”

The man turned his face to her, his cheek wrinkling in bewilderment. “My hat?”  
  
“Yes.” She was a spunky thing with a walker, moving even a bit faster than with a cane per her increased confidence in her balance. Her curls were long and beautiful and bounced with every step.

It was all Lotor could do to not reach out to stroke them, curious even of the texture of her cheek, which was still smooth.

His voice strangled out. “Why do you wish for me to take off my hat?”

“I do believe you are hiding a bald spot, and I want to see it. Immediately.” She tapped her wrinkled fingers on her walker’s handle insistently. “Come now, I’m aging here.”

Lotor huffed, growing a bit unsettled. “But my hat unsettles my hair,” he complained. There was a merry whine in him. “And I like that you’re so curious. I may just leave my hat on, and keep it a mystery for you.”

Allura’s face faulted. She whined up at him. “Noo, do not tease me, sir. I’m very curious.”

“Why such interest, hm?”

She looked petulant then, pulling away from her walker to stamp her foot lightly. “Because you’re far too handsome as an old man, so surely you’re hiding something to otherwise reveal yourself marked. Perhaps your hair is a wig.”

His face stretched in a smile. “My, do I hear a compliment from you?” He turned to look at her, leaning down a bit per the great gap in their height. “Do you truly think me so handsome, princess?”

A damnable, little blush flushed across her aged cheeks. She huffed at him. “Well, sir, you’re the one who complained that the old ladies were groping you as you passed by. It’s no surprise that you’re still very much the Lotor Dalir I once knew.”

The compliment gave him pause, and his old heart rose as he attempted to conjure a smart retort for her.

But she took advantage of his momentary hesitance, and she lightly—with a spryness that seemed all too impossible for her bird bones—stood up on her tip-toes and unceremoniously grabbed his hat.

White hair unsettled, and a strangled squawk escaped Lotor’s throat.

But somehow, the white hair didn’t come away with the hat as she suspected it would. Nor did she see a shining spot of skin atop his head. Instead, the man still boasted a full, true head of hair, and Allura gaped at it in shock.

The man stiffly stood up, leaning on his cane as he weakly tried to resettle his matted hair, which hung oddly at his temples from his hat. “It’s rather a trick to comb it now, with these stiff arms of mine,” he complained. “I wear the hat to avoid looking homeless.”

Allura still gaped at him openly. For truly, if Lotor turned his back, and if she ignored his cane, he looked merely like a thinner version of his young self. As if nothing had changed. She reached up and tugged on a lock for good measure.

His face split with a handsome smile. “Are you disappointed, love?”

She squawked back at him in surprise. “How is this possible.”

“Good genes,” he murmured to her. He tilted his head. “And a little bit of hair regrowth surgery, back in the day. But tell no one.”

Allura’s aged fingers slipped through the wild locks of his hair, which truly did bear several tangles. Her heart flopped a bit, and then she said, pushing out her walker. “Well, you sit right here, then. I’ve a brush in my organizer.”

The man stared at her in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I say, sit down on this chair right here,” she demanded. “And I shall comb your hair so that you don’t have to wear that hat. It’s a down-right tragedy to hide your hair, sir. I will not allow it.”

Lotor swallowed hard. Then he looked down at her pink walker.

And gingerly, he sat down upon her seat, looking somewhat frail in doing so, kicking out his long legs in front of him. “I’ve never had anyone else comb my hair.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret,” she said, grabbing for her own brush from her organizer and then reaching forward. Her thin fingers slipped through his locks, gently stroking down his head. “I’ve always wanted to play with your hair, and for all the ribbing you do to me, I quite think you owe me.”

“Do I?” he murmured airily.

“Yes, Mr. Dalir. You do.” And there, right in the courtyard of the resort, early in the morning, Allura began to comb his hair, touching his head and the back of his neck as she gently sectioned off the locks of his hair.

And his eyes misted, and he tightened his fingers into the material of his jacket with great emotion.

* * *

It came to be a tradition for them. She would comb his hair, occasionally even daring to braid it or place it in a ponytail to show off the gracefully sharp curve of his cheek. Lotor never once denied her, in great want for human touch. Kind hands. The feeling of her fingers slipping through his hair left him with a great sense of relaxation, and he did not even mind that he was sitting atop a perfectly pink walker in the meantime, his legs stretched out in the light.

He, for his part, grew even more curious of her occasional spells of dizziness, which slowed her down and forced her to sit for a time. He’d just gotten little miss Allura back in his life. He was not about to let her go.

His concern was how Lotor found himself standing in Allura’s apartment, puzzling over a rather large bag of medications. “You take all of this?” he called to her, puzzling at the descriptions of each bottle, then stiffly set each one down on the counter.

Allura’s voice frailly wafted from the couch, where he had helped her lay down. Her curls tumbled off a pillow, her body particularly limp. “One of each, once a day.”

Lotor blinked, almost overwhelmed. “You have…an incredible number of blood pressure pills, love.”

She managed to weakly raise up her finger, almost just to spite him. “I need a few, just for you.”

He turned to her then, more critically narrowing his eyes. “When did these spells start happening for you?”

Allura lowered her hand, and it somewhat flopped over her stomach. Her hand twitched over where she bore a scar from an emergency c-section for her fifth and final child. It itched sometimes. “Well, just a few years ago. But they’ve gotten much worse lately.”

Lotor tapped his fingers against the plastic of an orange bottle. His sharp, blue eyes roved over her in worry. “Let us take your blood pressure, love. I’ve a wild thought.”

* * *

Soon, Allura lay facing him, her eyes vulnerable as Lotor kneeled before her with a borrowed blood pressure cuff from the nurse’s station. “This is all a lot of fuss for something so minor,” she said weakly.

“Shush, Miss Singh.” In his own worry, his tongue slipped with her old name. He wrapped the arm cuff around her little arm, inspecting her somewhat papery flesh. “Have you lost weight recently?”

She blinked at him, then her wrinkled face twisted. “I’ve always been a bit small.”

“Because you hardly eat,” he retorted. And then he pressed the button, and he waited for the little machine to read out her numbers.

And then his face tightened. “You say your blood pressure has been high?”

Allura innocently watched him, her face warming from his concern. “For many years, yes. I began to struggle with it, um…oh, it’s been decades.”

“And these dizzy spells—they’ve begun only in the last few years?”

“Yes, sir,” she said weakly. She began to struggle up. “Why, what does the thing say?”

He gently guided her back down, and he murmured softly to her, “I think you should have a chat with your doctor, love. Your blood pressure is far too low.” He swallowed hard, then dared to reach out and stroked her cheek, his long fingers catching a soft, white curl and brushing it aside. Allura seemed so thin and frail then, his old heart caught in a deep need to protect her from all things.

She tiredly leaned against his cheek. “Is that all?” she said weakly. “Why, that’s…that’s not so bad.”

“It very much is,” he argued. “If you’re taking too much, you could kill yourself. And then where would I be.”

Allura managed a weak huff at him, and she rolled her eyes lovingly. “But I’ve always needed such medicines. Why would it change now?”

He did not answer, curious as well. Then he said, “I would have you go to the doctor now. I will take you, and have them examine you while you’re the midst of one of these spells.”

* * *

Lotor found himself waiting outside the doctor’s office, sitting on a bench in great apprehension, fearful that Allura had some underlying condition. He knew that he could not speak of such without sounding like her helicoptering family.

It would just be his luck, that he would finally find a little happiness, only for it to slip away from him. His own heart crunched in at the thought, that he would perhaps be already having to say goodbye to an old friend.

But then the office door slammed open, and he flinched in surprise of the sound. And out came a little spunky Allura, pushing along her walker in a huff of white curls, her eyes sharp and limbs strong. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” she declared loudly. Her voice was stronger. “Do you know what they did? Do you know, Lotor?”

He somewhat flailed to a stand, awkwardly grabbing for his cane and his hat. “Ah, n-no—”

“—They fed me some salt, cut down my medications, and told me I’ve a heart as steady as a drum.” She eyed him with a huffy merriment. “I’ve no idea why my blood pressure is only 110 over 70 without medication, but I suppose this means, sir, that you’re not likely to be rid of me anytime soon.”

The old man stood there. His fist clenched in on his hat, and his throat tightened up once more. And then he began to laugh.

She raised up a finger. “And furthermore, if you keep calling me love, they’re going to suspect you’re a suitor.” Her pretty face flushed, and her voice lowered to a whisper, “They asked me if I were sexually active, and I’ve not been asked that in at least two decades.”

The heart of little miss Allura was pounding lightly in her chest.

Lotor helplessly raised his hand. “You’re suspect for hanging around me, I fear.” But his velvet voice was lifted in delight—and relief. “Should I kiss your cheek just to make them wonder? And perhaps raise that blood pressure of yours.”

And damnably, the little woman tapped her foot, tilting her head. “Yes, sir. Let’s really stick it to them to for letting my blood pressure drop so low.”

He limped over with his cane.

She looked up at him expectantly, an elegant brow raised.

With his free hand, he gently raised her chin a fraction higher, marveling in the soft of her skin. “Do you mind if an old man kisses you?”

Allura, for as old as she was with nearly ten grandchildren, still carried an innocent spark in her eye. “I wouldn’t mind trying it. You’re only 45, you know. And I am only 41.”

Lotor’s lips stretched in a handsome smile. He leaned down and then dared to press his lips against her own.

Allura made a happy noise against him, standing up on her tip-toes to lock their lips together a bit tighter. Her fingers reached out, tentatively brushing against his own over his cane. Her fingers slid over his wedding ring, and suddenly she paused.

He pulled away from her, his face tight in awe. He dared to lick his bottom lip, and then he weakly laughed. “You taste of salt.”

Her aged fingers awkwardly pulled away from his hand. “Oh, well. That’s from what they gave me to drink.” She flushed, looking down, suddenly feeling strange and stupid. She was quite done mourning Lance’s death, but it felt as if she were cheating on him somehow—in part because her own heart so readily leapt at even Lotor’s voice.

The man reached up and touched his own lips. “You’re the best salt I’ve ever tasted,” he declared softly, giving her an amused, fond look. “But I’m rather out of practice with kissing now. I fear your doctors may not be convinced.”

Allura’s bright eyes suddenly slid to his.

Lotor thought for a moment that perhaps she would tell him, _Then kiss me again, sir, and make it count._  
  
But the spunky woman raised her nose and began to push her walker along as if it were a cloud, forcing him to quickly trail after her. “If you want to kiss me again, sir,” she called merrily, “you’ll have to work for it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all. Happy day 5 of Lotura week! Some might think this is a pretty strange story to write, haha. And maybe it is, especially to be posting it for a prompt of "eternal life / new beginnings." But I had to get some feels out a while ago because I help take care of my grandfather, who recently moved to assisted living. In the beginning, he was teary-eyed and felt that his life was over, and that old age meant the end of fun and connection. But as it's turned out, he's had a great time making new friends and starting a new chapter in his life with them. It's really made me rethink how I view aging and this fear I have about needing to live the perfect life before I get "old," if that makes sense. (Also, old people finding love again is really precious to me, so it just kinda translated into Dalingh in my head because that's where my brain lives a lot, haha.)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!


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